


Greener Grass

by Tathrin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, HP: Epilogue Compliant, Post-Canon, Post-War, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-01-07
Updated: 2011-05-29
Packaged: 2017-10-14 12:55:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tathrin/pseuds/Tathrin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of Astoria Greengrass and how she became Astoria Malfoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Three Volume Novel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/149349) by [ladielazarus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladielazarus/pseuds/ladielazarus). 



> WARNING: This story has effectively been abandoned because I have very different ideas about Astoria than I did when I first started writing this. I doubt I will come back to write more about this Astoria now although it is always possible. I apologize for leaving the story incomplete. If anyone was really particularly fond of this version of Astoria and wants to do things with her or write a conclusion to this storyline themselves I bid you welcome to it. In fact, send me a link and I'll gladly attach it. Apologies to all!

The Greengrass family was comfortably well off, although certainly not wealthy by the standards of Old Pureblood Families, whom they could number themselves among and did, with great pride. They had never had a Death Eater themselves—that was far too much fuss and bother for a Greengrass—but that was all they had objected to about Lord Voldemort and his plans: the fuss and bother he caused. His methods might have been rather extreme, but his ideals were certainly laudable enough, the Greengrasses had always felt. With their pedigree, they obviously didn’t have to worry about him; they might not have held as rich and prestigious a name as they once had, but their blood was still undoubtedly pure and that still bought respect, no matter how many or how few galleons one could claim at Gringotts.

Still, the Greengrasses did all right, and more than all right. Their annual income was enough that they could live in fine style, so long as they weren’t overly extravagant about it. They could still afford all the luxuries necessary to holding one’s place in society, certainly. They always managed an annual vacation somewhere appropriate, and held one or two modestly fashionable parties each year. They could even dress their eldest, Daphne, in the freshest, finest styles, so long as they were willing to skimp on their budget for the younger girl.

That worked out well enough, for Daphne was by far the better prospect. There was nothing objectionable about Astoria, per se; she was every bit as polite, as pretty, and as pureblooded as Daphne was, but while Daphne was elegant and haughty Astoria was, quite frankly, a bit odd. So if she had to wear last year’s fashions made over, or have Daphne’s old robes tailored to fit her instead, well, who was to really notice? Daphne was the one who would be making the really remarkable match, the Greengrasses were certain. Astoria would still marry well, of course she would; just not nearly as well as Daphne was sure to. But she was still a proper pureblooded young lady, after all, and those were always in demand, especially if they were even slightly pretty…no matter how odd a girl might be.

Both Greengrass girls had looks going for them in addition to manners and bloodline. Daphne was the taller, handsomer daughter, with full, light brown hair that she always wore tossed in the latest styles; an elegant, almost athletic physique that was curved and buxom in all the right places; and dark, arresting eyes. Astoria was shorter, daintier, and regrettably slimmer. She had pale, large brown eyes; a sweet, often distracted smile; and very dark, walnut-brown hair that she kept curled in soft, cascading ringlets. Astoria considered her hair to be her best feature by far and it was her one main vanity. Her sister hated that Astoria’s hair held ringlet curls so prettily, so Astoria loved them all the more.

They were not of course as close as sisters might be hoped to be, the Greengrass girls. At two years older Daphne was imperious, commanding, and often downright bossy where Astoria was concerned. Daphne thought her sister’s oddities were an embarrassment, and she considered it her duty as the eldest to rein her little sister in before she could shame the whole family.

It wasn’t that Astoria behaved poorly; she just came up with unacceptable ideas and had a regrettable penchant for voicing her opinions. Why, in her very second year at school she had actually expressed the wish that the werewolf could still be teaching their Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, because she found their new professor frightening—more frightening than a werewolf! Daphne had had to be very harsh indeed, venomously lecturing little Astoria in front of half their common room to be sure that everyone there knew that such thoughts were not common ones for Greengrasses, and to make clear to her little sister that she had best not go on thinking them or, at the least, had to learn to keep them to herself!

Daphne wanted a little sister who would ape her every move and thought, the better to serve as a mirror to reflect Daphne’s perfection back to the world.

Instead she got Astoria.

Of course, Astoria would have been rather happier with a different sort of sister, herself. Daphne was a proud, stuck-up, self-important pureblood princess who never hesitated to call others out on their own shortcomings whilst remaining arrogantly convinced that she had none of her own. Astoria could have made quite a list of those, if only her sister had asked, but she never did. As far as Daphne was concerned, Daphne herself was the epitome of a pureblooded lady while reserved, quiet, bookish little Astoria with her strange observations and deplorable lack of blood-pride was a strange, silly little girl who ought to be ignored by everyone who mattered.

Daphne had arranged for that last feat very well, and Astoria spent most of her time at Hogwarts largely overlooked. She did have friends, of course, or at least friendly, socially appropriate young ladies with whom she could pass time pleasantly. However, having found her opinions often unwelcome, she simply kept them to herself; never lying if asked a direct question, but never volunteering for conversation, either. She generally knew the answer in class, but generally kept her hand down, not wanting to draw too much notice; she’d learned that such regard tended to bring mockery and scorn with it, and Astoria hated being mocked, especially by her detestable sister. So she sat, pretty and demure and only vaguely alert to or observed by her surroundings and her fellows, off in a corner with her books, and she passed her time at school as a barely-noticed bauble bobbing along at the very edges of Slytherin House.

* * *

Certainly Draco Malfoy had never paid her much attention. Daphne Greengrass had been in his year and his classes, but Astoria had been nothing more than Daphne’s younger sister, and he’d barely even known she was there, to be honest. The spectacle of Daphne scolding her over her preference for Professor Lupin had been highly entertaining, but after that, she’d pretty dramatically dropped off his radar.

Draco had always been far too self-absorbed to pay much note to things outside his direct circle of interest, and Astoria had definitely lived on the fringes of Slytherin society. He’d known Daphne better, of course, but they hadn’t been close; Daphne was one of the girls who followed Pansy Parkinson around, but beyond that, she’d never been much use to Draco personally. Another avid listener for his preening, of course; and another shrill, mocking voice ready to poke fun at Gryffindors, Mudbloods, and blood-traitors; but Pansy was clearly the leader of the girlish gang, and Malfoy’s only interest in followers lay in having them do as he said.

Thus it was that he didn’t really notice when Daphne suddenly stopped associating with Pansy; if he had made note of the time—mid-way through their fourth year of school, when he’d taken Pansy to the Yule Ball, upon which event Pansy had decided that they were dating and Draco, flattered by the attention and all too willing to let Parkinson fawn and dote on him, had allowed it—perhaps he would have realized that Daphne was just as besotted with him as Pansy was, but he hadn’t made note, or noticed Daphne’s distress at all.

Daphne’s jealousy of her closest friend had started the year previously, when Malfoy had been injured by that terrible creature. He’d milked that injury for all it was worth, and Pansy had been only too happy to help him do so, dramatically bemoaning the horrible maiming he had suffered. Daphne had joined in the lamentations as well, because she was just as willing as Pansy was to flatter and pout over Draco Malfoy, but Pansy Parkinson was particularly good at melodramatic lamentations and Daphne had been quite unable to get herself noticed over the other girl. She’d gone about all year with a sour expression on her face, trailing Pansy sulkily, but Draco had not bothered to notice.

He also didn’t notice when they started talking again, Pansy and Daphne, during their sixth year, but to be fair, Draco Malfoy was rather legitimately distracted that year. His distraction had actually been the catalyst for the resumption of their friendly association; the whole previous year they had maintained an icy civility that was more biting than open, outright insults could have been. Pansy, of course, had noticed her friend’s jealousy, and had been only too gleeful about rubbing her own good fortune in Daphne’s face and Daphne had responded by shunning Pansy and everything about her, at least until Draco drifted away to more important things and it was Pansy’s turn to sulk and pout over his disinterest. Daphne had quite enjoyed the superior way she had been able to offer Pansy sympathy, and the two girls had soon become friends again, or at least as close to friends as such self-interested, selfish young ladies could possibly be.

The point, at any rate, was that with Daphne so often on the periphery of, or absent from, his immediate social circle, the self-important, self-absorbed boy that was Draco Malfoy could hardly have been expected to pay any notice to her quiet little sister.

Until, of course, he did.


	2. The Meeting

They were at a ball when they first became aware of one another. Astoria knew who Draco Malfoy was, of course; you couldn’t be in Slytherin and not know Draco Malfoy, couldn’t be a pureblood and not know his family name. The Malfoys were as absolutely pureblooded as it was possible to be; legend and gossip could trace their lineage back practically to the dawn of magic in Britain, if not even earlier. They were considerably richer than any twenty people would have had the right to be; it was unlikely that they would even have been _able_ to spend all their accumulated wealth if they’d wanted to, no matter how hard they tried. And, of course, they were socially _very_ noticeable, the Malfoys; somehow they had made it through two wars on the losing side without sacrificing much more than a few rungs of the status ladder and when you start as near the top as the Malfoys had, dropping a few levels hardly registered from most people’s perspective.

Considering how many of the Old Pureblood Families were decimated and all but destroyed by the fallout of the Dark Lord’s final defeat, the fact that the Malfoys remained free and intact was testament enough to the power of their standing and reputation, and with so many of the Old Families in disarray, the remaining survivors clustered together all the firmer. Anyone these days who could claim properly pure blood while remaining outside the walls of Azkaban prison was valuable, and somehow the Malfoys had managed this feat, despite their publicly close ties to the Dark Lord.

Those who weren’t leery were highly impressed, and those who remained loyal to the ideal of the Dark Lord, albeit never having served him directly, were only too willing to forgive the Malfoys any crime so long as they could slink into their presence—at least now that the Ministry was looking the other way again. They’d found very few friends during the lengthy trials held at the end of the war, but that was behind everyone now, and suddenly the Malfoys discovered that they had a great many friends indeed, including the Greengrasses.

Of course, not everyone was so happy that the family had managed to, once again, squirm their way out of Azkaban: those who had lost family of their own to curses or convictions were, for the most part, less than pleased with the Malfoy’s good fortune; those who had themselves barely scraped their own freedom were divided between solidarity and suspicion. And, of course, those who had fought against the Dark Lord and all who stood by him were none too happy that the Malfoys walked free, but Harry Potter had insisted that formal trials be held for all, no matter how obvious their guilt, and somehow the Malfoys had come off, if not innocent, than at least unconvicted—due in large part to the words of that self-same Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, and who inexplicably wanted clemency for his old enemies, claiming their assistance as integral to his own success.

Most of the victors would have been only too happy to toss everyone whose left arm bore the Dark Lord’s brand in with the rest of their compatriots and forget about them all gladly, no trials needed, but Potter was touchy about that idea, and so there had been trials, and verdicts, and after two long years things were finally starting to settle back to some semblance of normalcy and, for the battered, shrunken, insular community of pureblood high society, that meant extravagant balls and even more stilted manners.

It also, of course, meant quite a lot of arguments; more even than was usual for such ridiculous events. No one was quite certain where they stood these days, or with whom, or what was going to happen to them all in the future. Blood Purity had been struck quite a blow when the Dark Lord fell, and the community that clung to those prejudiced ideals was still reeling. So they did the only thing that made sense: they set about getting their sons and daughters married off to one another as quickly as possible, before the children started asking uncomfortable questions or forming unacceptable ideas.

That meant, of course, a veritable deluge of fancy parties, elaborate galas, and extravagant balls at which the young, eligible remnants of the pureblood community could be paraded in front of one another while their parents whispered hasty negotiations and watched them all like starving hawks.

The Malfoys weren’t as common attendees at these functions as one might have expected, and surely they showed up less often than many of their peers would have hoped. But they had been busy licking their own wounds, and had been rather unsure of what sort of welcome they would receive from their fellows. These had been slow, solitary years for the once-proud family; quiet years while they tried to scrape their spirits back together and find some semblance of their old confidence. Two years to struggle with the past and fight back nightmares.

But finally Narcissa had had enough. She liked bright, pretty things; life had been dreary enough for far too long, and she wanted music and dancing and light, pointless conversation. Furthermore she was worried about her precious Draco, who remained quite nearly as quiet and withdrawn as he had been when the Dark Lord lived and loomed above them all. Draco Malfoy had been a shallow, arrogant creature of inflated pride and haughty prejudice, and all of his beliefs had come crashing down around him, very nearly taking his life and his family’s as they fell. He was in no mood for parties or dancing, but mother insisted, and Draco and his father were not accustomed to arguing with Narcissa Malfoy on the rare occasions when she absolutely _insisted_ upon something. When that dainty foot came down, the Malfoy men leapt to obey.

So they went to the parties.

Narcissa circulated with brittle, desperate good cheer, her pretty smile a weapon and her bright, lilting laugh a shield. If she wasn’t the life of the party she had once been, she was still charming and vivacious and no one would begrudge her if the difficulties of the past few years left her a little less frivolous and lively than was usual.

Lucius, for his part, faked his old, arrogant confidence with such determination that only those who had known him well could tell the difference, but he was a shadow of what he had once been. Lucius Malfoy used to believe that he could tilt the whole world by himself if he put his mind—and his money—to the task, but the Dark Lord had brutally disabused him of that notion and now he was bereft, adrift, floating through those old habits because he did not know how to make new ones.

But they pretended to be their old selves, and they did it very well.

It was Draco who was the most obviously changed: gone was the arrogant, sneering little boy who looked down his nose at the whole world spread out beneath him like a child’s train set. Gone was the foul-mouthed, prejudiced little pureblood prince; the self-absorbed ruler of Slytherin House; the pompous darling of the green and silver. He was quieter now, cowed, and maybe even somewhat kinder, although that was something he was very much unpracticed at, and his attempts at considerate behavior sat on his shoulders like an ill-fitting cloak. His smiles were short and uncertain, flitting on and off his pale face quickly, as if they were easily frightened away. He didn’t speak much these days, but he had started listening, which was new.

And at some point, he had learned how to smile without a sneer.

* * *

Thus it was that the Draco Malfoy seen lingering around the edges of this veritable deluge of pureblood parties was a very different boy than the one that had been at Hogwarts, although there were very few people willing to make note of that change. Daphne Greengrass certainly hadn’t noticed; to her eyes, Draco was still the haughty, handsome, arrogant bully she had swooned over and continued now to be quietly besotted with.

Astoria knew of her sister’s obsession, of course; Daphne wasn’t exactly discreet with all of her mooning over the Malfoy boy, and it would have taken a far less observant girl than Astoria Greengrass to miss the signs. In fact, of all their housemates at school, Draco might well have been the only one unaware of Daphne’s feelings for him, but Draco had never been very good at picking up on such things. Having spent most of his life assuming that the whole world revolved around him, he had a hard time distinguishing when people actually thought it did.

So Draco remained frustratingly ignorant of Daphne’s interest in him, and for once in her life, Daphne was too unsure of herself to take the risk of informing him outright. He was distantly polite when they spoke, which Daphne considered to be an encouraging sign; he used to be simply distant. If she hadn’t been quite so taken with him she might have realized that he was making the effort to be more polite in general, but Daphne had the blinders of obsession firmly affixed to her awareness, and she took his newfound graciousness as an indication of his burgeoning interest in her.

Astoria thought her sister was absolutely barmy, and never hesitated to let her know.

But they argued and fought a lot, the Greengrass sisters, and Daphne took Astoria’s words as simply a petty attempt by the younger girl to upset her. She was certain that Draco must have feelings for her; after all, she certainly had them for him, and Daphne Greengrass was just spoiled enough to be unaccustomed to finding something she wanted that she could not have eventually.

Until she picked the wrong day to argue with her little sister. What the row was about neither girl could afterwards remember; they fought so often it was hard to keep track. But they had been arguing, and there had been a ball, and when they got there they were still arguing. Daphne said something cruel to Astoria, and she replied snidely, and on and on it went, the two sisters snarling at one another while they kept pretty smiles on their faces and interrupted their sniping to chat pleasantly with the other guests whenever one wandered by.

But they were left alone at one point for several minutes, and the dialog became particularly unpleasant, with Daphne descending low enough to comment disparagingly on the ratio of Astoria’s buoyant hair to her slim figure, and Astoria simply had enough. She snapped back nastily about Daphne’s obsessive crush on Draco Malfoy and Daphne protested haughtily that her little sister didn’t know what she was talking about and Astoria, following Daphne’s eyeline, had spotted Draco lingering disinterestedly at the edges of the ballroom. Astoria smirked, told Daphne to do something impolite, and said that she was simply going to go talk to Malfoy, since her sister was too cowardly to do so herself.

Daphne’s screeching protests fell on deaf ears and Astoria had prettily flounced off to do just as she’d threatened. After all, she had conversed with several truly unpleasant gentlemen at these sorts of gala events; what was one more, especially if the conversation was going to outrage her sister so?

Only he wasn’t unpleasant at all, she was surprised to find. It had actually been a terribly nice conversation, and he’d even listened when she spoke instead of simply droning on like so many boorish pureblood blokes did when convinced of their own superiority, and he’d made her giggle several times—he couldn’t _really_ find these tedious events as ridiculous as she did, could he?—and he didn’t once comment upon her lack of decorum.

Astoria’s giggles were the bane of her mother’s existence. How could any gentleman be interested in a girl who _giggled_ at the least provocation? And it wasn’t the demure little lilt of a half-forced expression of amusement that a lady was expected to produce on cue when the gentleman she was speaking to said something he intended to be funny, oh no; Astoria giggled like an uncultured child, all sincere and hysterical. It was deplorable, really, and for her mother’s sake Astoria did her best to restrain herself from doing so in public; it usually wasn’t difficult, because she so rarely found genuine amusement at these obnoxious parties, but in Draco’s presence she’d been quite unable to help herself and, more baffling yet, he’d only grinned at her startled gaiety.

But he was _funny_. A little snide, a little caustic, cleverly witty, and terribly funny. The first scathing observation had been an accident, muttered under his breath when the grand matriarch of the Rosier family wafted by in her stew of perfume, and he’d started to quickly stammer an apology for his ill-manners to the girl standing next to him, but he’d been interrupted by her shocked giggle. She’d clapped a hand to her mouth, every bit as appalled with herself as he’d seemed to be by his own words, and then they’d both laughed.

After that it was as if floodgates opened. The stilted pretense was discarded with, all propriety of conversation abandoned, and they’d spoken almost as if they were simply regular people. His biting commentary had had Astoria practically in stitches, and her charmingly sharp retorts and giggling amusement left Draco grinning broadly, almost uncertainly, like someone who had suddenly remembered how to smile after a very long time without.

Neither one of them noticed Daphne glaring across the ballroom at them like a basilisk. Nor were they aware of Draco’s parents, who practically got into a slap fight, they were nudging one another so eagerly in their glee at the sight of Draco having such an obviously good time in the company of a pretty young lady. The Malfoys left the party with smug grins plastered broadly across both their faces, snickering and whispering together like school children sharing a terribly amusing secret joke.

For the first time in her life, Astoria found herself regretting when the evening ended and it was time to depart. In fact, she’d had such a pleasurable time that she had entirely forgotten about her sister’s obsession and her own original intentions to upset Daphne by striking up a conversation with the Malfoy boy. She didn’t notice her sister seething beside her and she spent the rest of the night with the silly little ghost of a smile on her face.


	3. The Dance

Astoria, quite unaccountably, found herself very much looking forward to the next farcical society gathering. She took extra time with her curls and spent rather longer than was customary sulking over the deplorable state of her closet. She'd never much cared what she wore before; so long as it was pretty, which all her robes more or less were, she was never too fussed about _how_ pretty, or _how_ stylish, or _how_ fashionable she looked.

But she quite suddenly was, and she didn't know entirely what to make of it.

When Daphne sulkily pointed out that her sister had taken far longer to get ready than she usually did, Astoria tossed her head and ignored her. She'd been ignoring Daphne a lot lately. Daphne was in a particularly foul mood and Astoria simply couldn't be bothered to figure out why. 

Not that she had more interesting things to think about, of course not. She was just tired of her sister's snits and, well, she had more interesting things to think about. Nothing specific, of course, and certainly no _one_ specific...just everything, in general, happened to be more interesting than Daphne's mood swings, and Astoria was sick of puzzling out which new transgression  had set her sister off.

She tuned Daphne's whining out and looked around at the fashionably dressed witches and wizards floating through the Grimbleys' ballroom. She wasn't looking for anyone specific, of course not. She just wanted to see who was there. And who wasn't.

Astoria wondered that the Malfoys had yet to arrive, and she tried not to fidget. She certainly wasn't waiting for them, she just found their absence curious. Perhaps they weren't coming?

The evening wore on with no sight of the three tall, pale figures. Not that Astoria was looking for them, of course not. But her tense excitement flagged as it became less and less likely that they were planning on a fashionably late arrival and more and more likely that they simply weren't coming at all.

Astoria found herself unaccountably disappointed. She didn't know why. It wasn't like she'd been hoping to see them, or anything. It certainly wasn't like she'd been hoping to see _him_. That was ridiculous.

But she suddenly hated her frilly robes, and her pointless hair, and this stupid, interminable party. Astoria sat in a chair off to the side of all the dancing and socializing, abandoning the stilted manners and forced interest that usually kept a lady chatting amiably with all sorts of horrid, obnoxious people long after she'd lost all interest. She ignored her mother's pointed glare to _get back out there_ , and turned her back on all of them, burrowing into her quiet little corner.

She was not, of course, sulking, however. Not even a little bit.

* * *

The Malfoys did not appear at the next party Astoria attended, either. Not that she had really expected them to; the family hosting was not, after all, on the social level of the Malfoys, and probably wouldn't have dared presume to invite them without an excuse or introduction.

But Astoria had thought, _maybe..._

Not that she cared, of course. Because she didn't. Not even a little bit.

Astoria pushed Draco Malfoy and his funny comments, and his charming smile, and that delightfully impertinent way he had of rolling his eyes while he made scathingly hilarious observations in that beautifully bored, drawling tone of his—she pushed all of that out of her mind. She’d been perfectly capable of enjoying these silly little parties, she told herself firmly, long before Malfoy had come along and made her giggle uproariously. She certainly didn’t need his company to enjoy them now.

She was, of course, lying. She had never much enjoyed society gatherings, finding them tedious and trying and filled with all sorts of stilted hypocrisy and foul, fake smiles. She liked dancing well enough, but as she had to make conversation with boorish, boring people in order to do so, she had long ago decided that it wasn’t worth it. She liked dressing up, too, even if her dresses were all outdated things made over to look new, but she hated the catty little comments witches would give one another under the guise of compliments, which quite took the fun out of wearing pretty things. And while Astoria appreciated the elegant mannerisms of a properly high society, she hated the false cheer and brutal backstabbing that so many people hid behind their pleasant smiles. They were all just playacting, for the most part badly.

If these people could actually just _be polite_ , she’d have been only too happy to chat and simper and flirt and play their little games, but they weren't; they acted it when people were watching, but only to the _right sort_ of people. If you came from the wrong bloodline or Gringotts account or social standing, forget it. You were scum, and the horrible hypocrites that surrounded her would treat you accordingly. Astoria hated it. 

She hated being treated like a pointless bauble, fit only for empty conversation and graceful dancing. She hated being patronized, rather than listened to. She hated having to smile emptily at yet another terribly boring, haughty little pureblood bloke who'd come over to see if she was good enough at stroking his ego to make her company worthwhile. She hated being treated like a commodity, although having grown up expecting nothing else, she’d never before realized that she minded. 

But suddenly Astoria did mind, terribly. 

Only she wasn’t quite sure why.

The thought had her distracted for several days. She drifted listlessly through the customary motions of her life, puzzled and uncertain and not altogether happy. There was a strange new discontent gnawing at her, and try what she would, Astoria could not make it go away.

Daphne, of course, was still in a foul mood; she had been for almost two weeks now, and Astoria didn’t know why, but she also found she didn't much care. She trailed after her grumpy sister, her thoughts a million meters away. 

She was so wrapped up in her reverie that she almost didn't notice Draco Malfoy until they practically ran into him. The two girls came around the corner of a shelf in Flourish and Blotts and there he was, book in hand, looking every bit as startled as Astoria felt. Then he grinned—an actual, genuine smile that didn’t seem in the least bit forced—and bid them both good afternoon, although he didn’t look at Daphne once. Astoria blushed and didn’t know why, and her sister simpered and cooed and Draco didn’t appear to notice the older girl at all.

“Good afternoon,” Astoria replied. “So, are you here for a book?” Then she flushed and could have cursed herself right back out the door; what a stupid thing to say, of course he was here for a book, this was a bookstore wasn’t it—for Merlin’s sake, he had a book in his hands! She was clearly the stupidest witch in the world.

But Draco didn’t seem to notice. “Oh,” he said, looking down at the book in his hand as if he had quite forgotten it was there, “oh, yes. Um. You as well, I take it?”

Astoria nodded, feeling terribly awkward. “Yes,” she said, because she needed something to say. “Well, no. I mean, nothing specific. We were just...out,” she finished lamely, wishing that she had something more interesting to talk about.

Draco nodded, seemingly fascinated. “Sounds marvelous,” he said, which was clearly daft; if he’d ever spent any time in Daphne’s company, he would have known that “marvelous” was the very last word to describe it with. But it was unseemly for the Greengrass girls to go about unescorted, so when they couldn’t beg a friend along they made deals with one another: come with me to the jewelers and I’ll wait while you look at quills. Accompany me to the haberdashers, and I’ll go with you to pick out ribbons. Come along while I look at a new pair of shoes, and we can stop afterward and see if that new book you wanted is in.

Daphne was saying something with a terribly false, high-pitched giggle, but Astoria wasn’t listening to her. Neither, it seemed, was Draco; when he politely replied to whatever nonsense she’d been spouting, Astoria thought that she’d never heard anyone manage to sound quite so disinterested and noncommittal as Draco Malfoy did right then.

Daphne frowned, glaring between them suspiciously, sulkily, but neither Draco nor Astoria noticed. They just grinned at each other, a bit stupidly, until they realized that they seemed to have nothing whatsoever to say.

“Well, I don't want to intrude on your plans—”

“I do hope I'm not interrupting your shopping—”

They spoke at the same time, grinned shamefacedly, and fell silent.

Daphne’s scowl turned dark and murderous. “I think we’ve taken enough of Master Malfoy’s time, sister dear,” she spat. “We’d best be running along. Draco, it was lovely to see you, as always.” Daphne was torn between sulking beneath her heavy frown and batting her eyelashes as she left, and settled for a brief, flirtatious smile before grabbing Astoria roughly by the arm and pulling her away, the grumpy look of displeasure back on her face.

“Ah. Of course,” said Draco quickly, almost like he’d been startled out a daze. “Good afternoon, Miss Greengrass...Miss Greengrass.” He smiled at Astoria who returned the expression shyly.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy,” she said, and couldn’t help but glance back over her shoulder as her sister dragged her out the door. Draco was standing right where they’d left him, his book dangling forgotten from his hand, still staring at Astoria. She caught his gaze and blushed, looking quickly away.

She had that same silly little smile on her face the rest of the afternoon and it wasn’t until much later that Astoria realized that she had forgotten all about the book she had originally gone looking for. 

Somehow, though, the day didn’t feel like it had been a waste.

* * *

Astoria did not have to wait long to see Draco Malfoy again. That very week-end the Greengrasses and their daughters had been invited to the sprawling gala the Lewis family was holding to celebrate their son’s engagement to a truly horrid young lady from Durmstrang. Astoria would have been thoroughly displeased with the entire evening if it weren’t for the fact that no sooner had she arrived and plastered her Society Smile to her face than she spotted three tall, pale, and delightfully unmistakable figures walking through the grand double doors of the entrance hallway.

Astoria could not help but grin.

She would have felt quite the shameless ninny if she hadn’t seen Draco’s tense expression light up gleefully the moment he caught her eye. _He was pleased to see her._ Astoria felt as though her smile were going to split her face in half. She couldn’t understand why, but the knowledge that Draco Malfoy had apparently been looking forward to her presence and was glad now to spot her across the ballroom—well, it made her feel strangely light and bubbly inside, like she had drunk too much of something fizzy.

Draco’s greeting to their hosts was so brief that it was quite nearly perfunctory. He gracefully extricated himself from the conversation as quickly as he could manage it and positively hurried across the ballroom to her side, leaving his parents to make polite chit-chat with the Lewises without him. Astoria stifled a giggle. It was terribly indecorous of him to so visibly demonstrate such interest in her company, but she couldn’t help but revel in his excitement.

“Good evening, Miss Greengrass,” he said, beaming.

Astoria knew that she was returning the expression without the least bit of properly demure restraint but she hardly cared. “Good evening,” she said, fighting the inexplicable urge to bat her eyelashes.

“Yes, it is,” said Draco, then frowned, apparently at himself.

Astoria couldn’t help it, she giggled. Then she clapped a hand to her mouth, appalled. “Oh, I am so sorry!” she gasped. “I—I didn’t—”

Draco smirked. “No,” he said, “do go ahead and laugh. If I’m going to say stupid things…” He rolled his eyes, disgusted.

Astoria giggled again. “Oh, no,” she said, reaching out for his hand before she thought about what she was doing, “don’t say that. You’ll set the standard for our conversation far too high, for I’m sure that I’ll say something much, much stupider all too soon.”

Draco grinned. “Nonsense,” he retorted, “no matter how silly a comment something might be, I can’t imagine it sounding anything less than genius if it comes from your lips.”

Then he blushed, probably realizing that it was quite inappropriate of him to mention her lips in any context. Astoria did likewise, suddenly aware that she was holding his hand, in direct opposition to all strictures of propriety. She frowned at her offending digits and they reluctantly uncurled from Draco’s exquisitely long, slim fingers. Those fingers lingered as she drew hers away, the disentangling indecorously slow and very much against her will—and, apparently, his as well. Astoria slipped her hands behind her back, clasping them together tightly in hopes of resisting the urge to repeat the scandalous gesture.

Draco’s smile twisted sideways impertinently. “I do beg your pardon,” he said, sounding like he meant to do nothing of the kind.

“Yes. Well.” Astoria swallowed hard, fighting against the urge to break into a broad grin of her own. She wondered that she’d never realized before how attractive hands and fingers could be. “I’ll grant it, of course.”

There was a long moment then where neither of them said anything at all; they just stood there, smiling at each other, the both of them feeling delighted and silly all at the same time.

“Would you—well—would you care to dance, perhaps?” Draco asked hesitantly.

Astoria flushed. “I—yes—I should like to, very much,” she stammered in reply. Her heart fluttered wildly as he took her hand; they were dancing, so clasped fingers were appropriate now. She hadn’t seen Draco dance at any of the other parties they’d both been in attendance at; she didn’t know if that was because he hadn’t, or because she simply hadn’t noticed, not having cared to pay any sort of attention to Draco Malfoy prior to now.

She wondered why. Was he, perhaps, simply not a skilled dancer who preferred not to demonstrate his lack of grace? Why, then, would he have so suddenly asked her to the floor when she had not so much as hinted at a desire for him to do so? Surely that couldn’t be the explanation; besides, the idea of Draco Malfoy lacking physical grace…well, Astoria simply couldn’t conceive of such a thing. His elegant, languid mannerisms bespoke a natural poise that Astoria envied, not realizing that she was fortunate enough to possess much the same herself.

Perhaps, Astoria thought as he swept her through the first turn, there simply hadn’t been any witches he wanted to dance with before now. That thought made her much giddier than the spinning; Astoria, after all, quite loved dancing. It was one of the few things that made these interminable social gatherings tolerable, she felt, and she was consequently very practiced at this particular art form.

Draco’s casual skill likewise showed that whatever lessons his parents had doubtless arranged for had certainly not gone to waste. He was, as Astoria had suspected, an elegant dancer. Those languid mannerisms were still there, flowing in time to the music, and hampered by none of the ferocious concentration that less accomplished gentlemen tended to engage in while they fiercely counted their steps and slaved determinedly to the tempo. Astoria grinned and relaxed into the music, allowing herself to just enjoy the dance. It was rare that she got the chance to cavort with such an equally matched partner, and she intended to make the most of it.

Four songs later when they finally retired, flush-cheeked and breathing heavily, to cool down with some refreshment and catch their breath, they were both grinning widely. There were stilted, formal words and responses to be said at the conclusion of any dance, but neither of them bothered with those artificial niceties. They just didn’t seem necessary, somehow.

“You dance beautifully,” Draco said, before she could say the same.

Astoria flushed. “Oh. Well, thank you,” she said, lowering her gaze demurely. “So do you.”

“Well, I’m glad of that,” he replied, “because you seem to enjoy it so.”

“Oh, I—I suppose I do,” she said, aiming for a dismissive tone. “It’s a pleasing enough activity, at any rate, as far as it goes.”

She glanced up, shifting slightly under a gaze that had suddenly sharpened. Draco tilted his head sideways, studying her appraisingly. His cool gray eyes seemed impossibly piercing, like they were looking straight through her. Astoria felt her cheeks go hot.

“What—what is it?” she stammered, patting her hair self-consciously.

For a moment Draco said nothing, as if debating; then he shrugged and elected for straightforward bluntness. “What’s the harm in admitting you like dancing?” he asked curiously.

Astoria gaped, then quickly pulled herself back under control. “Well it’s—I just, it’s an awfully… _frivolous_ pastime, don’t you think?”

Draco shrugged. “I suppose,” he said carelessly. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, I—I wouldn’t want you to think I’m frivolous, that’s all,” she said primly.

He grinned. “Hardly,” he said. “I think you’re fascinating and clever and charming and witty and hilarious, and I think you like dancing.”

Astoria squirmed awkwardly under the compliments. “That…that’s very kind of you to say,” she said hurriedly, flustered. “But it’s still frivolous. Not to mention, well, slightly indecorous.”

“How so?” he asked, curving an eyebrow inquiringly.

She dropped her gaze again. “Well, it’s…I mean, mother always—always told me that it, well, that is just wasn’t proper for a lady to really enjoy dancing. It was too…” Astoria swallowed and knew that her cheeks had to be absolutely crimson. She cleared her throat, her eyes fixed rigidly on the floor, and finished in a rush, “too physical an activity.”

Astoria cringed in embarrassment. She couldn’t believe she’d just said that in front of him…

Her mortification was broken by a soft chuckle. “I see,” said Draco. He sounded highly amused. “Dancing. Yes, terribly improper. It’s a wonder they don’t make us hold handkerchiefs instead of hands.”

“They used to,” Astoria said in a very small voice.

“I know,” said Draco, still more amused. “That’s what makes it all so ridiculous.”

“You…you think so?” she asked tentatively. She glanced up at him out of the corner of her eye, half-hiding behind her voluminous curls.

Draco waved a hand that encompassed not only the entirety of the room but the sprawling reaches of the whole society that lay behind it. “It’s all nonsense,” he said. “A ridiculous farce that we put on so that we can convince ourselves we’re, I don’t know, better than everyone else somehow. Then we break it down further with all sorts of silly little rules so that we can sneer and gossip when we catch one of us breaking them. I’m not sure if it’s amusing or just pathetic.”

Astoria grinned, raising her head at last. “You don’t _really_ think so,” she protested, secretly—or perhaps not-so-secretly—thrilled.

He shrugged again. “I do,” he admitted easily. “Really the only thing this insipid little gathering has to recommend itself is the fact that I get to spend it in your company—providing that you remain so inclined after how indecorously I’ve behaved, and all those awful things I’ve just said.” His nonchalant confidence finally wavered there at the end and he looked at her hopefully, hesitantly.

Astoria’s smile widened. “You’re delightful,” she told him without thinking, then blushed at her own boldness.

Draco smirked back. “No,” he said, “ _you’re_ delightful. _I’m_ quite horrid. You just seem to be amused by scandalous observations and impolite behavior, for which I’m quite grateful.”

Astoria giggled again and clapped a hand to her mouth. “Bother!” she exclaimed, and giggled again.

Draco grinned. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said, which was an awful lie.

“You are not,” Astoria said, giggling.

“No,” Draco agreed cheerfully, “I fear I’m not. I suppose I’m sorry for not being sorry, does that count for anything?”

Astoria giggled again, stifling her mouth now with both hands. She was almost at the point where she’d be quite unable to restrain herself; quite unable to keep from going into a real fit of laughter, the sort where she would giggle helplessly until she simply couldn’t breathe anymore. She looked around anxiously for her mother, knowing that she’d be in trouble if she was seen acting like this—especially in front of Malfoy!

Draco offered her his arm. “Shall we retreat to the gardens?” he offered. “You can’t be scolded if you aren’t seen, after all,” he pointed out, still grinning at her.

Astoria nodded gratefully, wrapping one hand around his arm and allowing him to help her to her feet; the other she kept clasped tightly to her mouth, trying vainly to restrain her giggles or at least smother them so no one else would hear. Draco guided her smoothly from the room, gracefully skirting the clusters of witches and wizards that would have necessitated a stop for conversation.

Mercifully they made the comparative privacy of the gardens without being stopped or hailed, and Astoria staggered away from him in the shadows. She collapsed against a tall elm, at last allowing herself to laugh freely. It was several minutes before she could stop.

Draco stood nearby, politely saying nothing until she had herself under control again, but he was smiling while he watched her. “I do apologize,” Astoria said when she could breathe again. “I don’t know what came over me…”

Draco grinned. “Well, whatever it was, I thought it was delightful,” he said.

Astoria stuck her tongue out at him. “You’re horrible,” she said, smiling.

Draco shrugged. “Admittedly,” he said.

“Well, I like it,” Astoria replied.

“So,” Draco said, after a long moment spent staring at one another happily, “your mother. She objects to your dancing and your laughing. I suppose she probably isn’t too keen on you disappearing into gardens with strange gentlemen, either.”

“You’re hardly that,” Astoria replied, laughing. Then she sobered. “But you’re probably right, we should get back, I suppose…” She sighed petulantly. It was lovely out here, with the flowers and the stars, and only the distant sounds of music and voices to remind them that somewhere nearby there were people and rules and social necessities. She’d love to just sit out here with Draco, link her fingers with his again, and just talk together until dawn. She didn’t think she’d ever tire of his company.

But for a witch and wizard their age who weren’t even courting—well, if they stayed out here for too much longer, there would be talk, and rumors, and scoldings, and trouble. She might well be forbidden to see him again, and that would have been horrible. But it was important that a witch not be thought improper in her conduct, and Astoria’s parents were very careful to avoid any such indicators. After all, they had enough trouble from her unwelcome opinions and odd behavior; they certainly didn’t need any whispers of impropriety added to all those other difficulties.

She stepped reluctantly away from the tree and Draco caught her hand and leaned in and for a moment Astoria thought that he was going to kiss her. Her heart caught in her throat and she realized suddenly that if he did, she wouldn’t stop him. But he merely sighed, and shifted their hands to a properly decorous grasp of escort, and they slowly walked back in together to the ball.


	4. The Gossip

The next day Astoria slept late and only barely had enough time to fix her hair before her luncheon date. It wasn’t with Draco, of course—they weren’t courting, so it would have been quite improper to see him outside of society like that!—but rather with Astoria’s only real close friend from school, Eugenia Cumberledge, called Jennie by her friends—or by Astoria, at least.

Eugenia didn’t have many other friends, certainly no close ones, but it wasn’t for lack of offers. Jennie was a bold, bright, brash young witch of proper blood and breeding and a more than decent amount of galleons in her family’s coffers. There were plenty of people who would have liked to spend more time in her company, but the problem there was that they thought that Jennie’s company would be something very different from the reality of it, and Jennie had no interest in playing along. Instead, she simply tossed her head and avoided their Society as best she could.

She still had to go to all the galas and gatherings, just like Astoria, and smile and simper—although Jennie really was _deplorable_ at simpering; only the absolute densest of gentlemen failed to suspect that there was sarcasm hidden just behind her smile—she just refused to engage in more than the bare minimum of required socialization. And Jennie wasn’t much of a fan of dancing, so unlike Astoria, she didn’t even have that small consolation to interest her in the interminable parties of their peers.

Eugenia was a tall, lanky witch with short, tawny curls—the messy, fly-away kind; not heavy ringlets like Astoria’s—and bright green eyes. She had a long, almost horsy face (but the pretty kind, that old-fashioned poets described as handsome, not plain) and she was quite nearly tan, for she spent far more time in the sun than her mother would probably have liked. But Jennie liked being outside in the gardens, where she could feel free. She writhed under the constraints of a society that had always rode heavier on her shoulders than they did on Astoria’s, and she reveled in the comparative freedom that undiluted nature afforded her. Jennie’s parents, almost ready to throw up their hands over the girl’s refusal to curb her energies to proper ladylike pursuits, allowed it as preferable to whatever alternatives they feared their mule-headed daughter would turn to if denied her little liberties.

Unlike Astoria she had no sisters, but she did have one brother, a much younger boy who had only just started at Hogwarts last year. He had been a—heartily welcomed—surprise for the Cumberledges, the little boy, and now Jennie was almost superfluous.

Jennie didn’t mind. She’d long chaffed at all the social strictures that Astoria had only of late begun to find confining, and while Jennie mercifully rebelled quietly, she did it with great determination: reading all sorts of Muggle literature, dressing in Muggle clothes at school, speaking in Muggle slang, even—secretly—hanging out in Muggle establishments when she was home on holiday.

Astoria had never dared go along. 

She adored Jennie, but she found the other girl almost exhausting, sometimes. Jennie was always so terribly, dramatically involved in whatever she was into; always so bold and energetic and full of life. Astoria often felt rather meek when she was around Jennie, but she loved her so, her brash, bold best friend.

Astoria had long feared that Jennie was going to end up swamped in some horrible scandal. Sooner or later one of her secret little pastimes was going to get discovered, and Jennie wouldn’t be able to keep her mouth shut about it, wouldn’t be willing to bear her punishment in demure shame and let it all blow over while she cringed and murmured fake apologies, and it would all end just about as badly as ever it possibly could, probably with Jennie locked up or disowned or shipped off to distant relations who could keep her out of the horrified eye of society. Jennie played a dangerous game, and it frightened Astoria—fascinated her, too, but she tried not to admit that—because Eugenia Cumderledge was reckless and rude and certain to get caught at it.

But she was still her best friend.

When Eugenia arrived she was shown straight into the breakfast nook where they were having their little luncheon; mother was out shopping with friends, and father had “business” to attend to (probably darts and drinking with his fellows), and Daphne wanted nothing to do with Astoria and her obnoxious little pal, so the two of them could be casual and alone.

Astoria stood up, smiling, practically bursting with news—

But Eugenia spoke first. “Merlin’s teeth, Stori,” she cried vulgarly, “what the hell is going on?” Jennie hurried across the room and dropped into the chair right across from Astoria, grabbing her hands. She was frowning, although it was impossible to tell whether she was angry or merely confused. “First I hear you’ve been swooning all over the place with Draco bloody Malfoy of all people, then I find out you’ve gone so far as to flit off into a _garden_ with him— _alone?_ With _him?”_ She shook her head, bewildered disgust all over her face. “I swear, I go out of town for a little bit, and you lose your mind!”

Astoria frowned. “You make it sound so...”

“Appalling?” Jennie asked. “Because it is! I mean, bad enough you’re going around simpering after any of those horrible blokes, but Malfoy? Stori, what’s come over you?”

“I, he...he’s nice,” Astoria protested weakly.

“Nice? Stori!”

“He is,” she insisted defensively.

“And pigs will fly out of my arse,” Jennie replied stoutly.

“Eugenia!” Astoria gasped.

“Oh come off it,” the other girl grumbled. “There’s no need to be so bloody priggish, there’s no one here to overhear—and besides, I’d think vulgar language would be the least of your concerns, right now.”

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?” Astoria asked stiffly.

“Oh, what do you think?” snapped Jennie, rolling her eyes so hard they could have played Bludgers at Hogwarts. “You go around with a bloke like that—that bloke, especially—you’re not even courting, carrying on like...like...like I don’t even want to know what!”

“We are not,” Astoria protested sulkily.

“Uh-huh,” said Jennie.

“We aren’t! You’re talking nonsense.”

“Am I? Because I thought I was talking about Draco Malfoy. And about your reputation. Not exactly two subjects I ever thought would have much to do with one another, I must say...”

“It—it’s not like that,” Astoria muttered, dropping her gaze to the floor.

“Isn’t it?” Eugenia asked pointedly.

Astoria didn’t answer.

“I see,” said Jennie, because she was perceptive, too; “so it isn’t like that, but you’d...like it to be?”

Astoria still said nothing, her face burning.

“Stori, I’m...I don’t even know what I am,” Jennie said, her voice heavy with disgust. “Surprised isn’t nearly strong enough a word. I mean...I mean...Malfoy?”

“He’s nice!” Astoria burst out.

“Bollocks,” Jennie snapped back. “He’s proud and pompous and prejudiced, and we always hated people like that. What’s gotten into you?”

Astoria shrugged, unable to find an answer she could say aloud.

“Was it his money?” Jennie asked coldly.

Astoria slapped her. “How could you!” she cried, and burst into tears.

“Oh, Stori...” Eugenia slid out of her chair and wrapped her arms around her friend. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, it was horrid.” She hugged the sniffling girl. “Was it your parents?” she asked gently.

“Wh-what?” Astoria stammered, fishing for a handkerchief.

Eugenia handed over hers. “Your parents,” she repeated. “Was it them, pressuring you into this?”

“Pressuring me into...?”

“With Malfoy.”

“What—no!” Astoria exclaimed. “I—I told you, he—he’s nice, I like him!”

“That’s a load of crap,” Jennie said bluntly. “He’s not nice. He is, at best, clever and manipulative, and those are not the same things at all. I thought you could tell that.”

“I can,” Astoria insisted, pulling away. She scowled through her tears. “He is not manipulating me,” she continued crossly. “He’s just...being... _nice_.”

Eugenia’s eyebrows slid up to her hairline. Her gaze, when it fastened on Astoria, was grim. “I see,” she said quietly.

“Clearly you don’t,” Astoria snapped.

“Clearly,” said Eugenia.

“You don’t even know him, Jennie!” Astoria pointed out heatedly.

“I don’t much think I need to,” the other girl replied coolly. “I think I already know enough, to be perfectly frank—and I’d have thought you did, too.”

“Well he’s nothing at all like anyone says,” Astoria retorted.

“Oh, I’m sure,” said Eugenia. She sat back in her own chair but waved for Astoria to keep the handkerchief. “Not to you, at least—not right now.” Her smile was pitying and not entirely pleasant.

Astoria’s eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?” she asked suspiciously.

Jennie rolled her eyes. “Merlin’s sake, Stori…” she sighed. “Of course he’s being nice to you right _now_. He hasn’t gotten what he wants out of you yet.”

“And what’s _that_ supposed to be?” Astoria folded her arms, settling into a scowl.

Jennie shrugged. “How should I know? I don’t read minds—if he’s got one.” Astoria sat up sharply but Jennie continued before she could interrupt: “But I’m pretty sure I could hazard a guess.” She raised an eyebrow.

Astoria’s jaw dropped. “Jennie!” she exclaimed.

“Well come on, Stori,” Eugenia said, not unkindly. “Be logical. What do you _think_ he’s after?”

Astoria slowly wilted back into her seat. “But… _but_ …”

Jennie squeezed her friend’s hand. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “But, you know, if you think about it…”

“No,” Astoria shook her head firmly. “I refuse to entertain such notions. They’re…they’re horrid, and utterly without merit.”

Eugenia studied her for a long minute. “If you say so, Stori,” she said at last, very softly. She allowed the subject to change and did not mention Draco Malfoy again for the rest of the afternoon but her bright green eyes were full of doleful sympathy every time she looked at her friend.

Astoria, of course, had lied. She could not help but entertain said notions once Jennie had brought them up. She thought about them miserably and at great length.

And, unfortunately, she had to admit that Eugenia Cumderledge had a point.

Astoria didn’t think of herself as any great beauty but she was, she knew, rather pretty. Pretty enough to catch the eye of more than one gentleman who had come to pay his attentions, found her rather odder than expected, and quickly come up with an excuse to be elsewhere, pursuing someone else’s conversation. She’d never minded, as they were generally either boring or odious or both.

But she also knew that, while her family was a respectable one, they were not particularly wealthy, not by the general standards of her society. Oh, they were far from impoverished— _far_ from it. But they were not _rich_ , not in any remarkable way. And so the Greengrass daughters would have to rely more on their charms than their father’s chequebook when it came to matters of matrimony and other such business mergers. They were, assuredly, well-off enough to do well, especially with such polite, pretty daughters as were Daphne and Astoria (especially Daphne). But well-off enough to attract a _Malfoy_ …?

Well, that was distinctly unlikely.

Not that the Malfoys, of course, had to care about what sort of wealth a bride could bring to the arrangement; they had enough already, and more than enough. Their precious Draco could have married a pauper and done no harm to their coffers. He was one gentleman who did not have to seek out deep pockets and brimming vaults when it came to the matter of picking a bride; he could content himself with picking the prettiest girl at the ball, no matter how poor she might be.

Astoria had heard a Muggle story like that once, from one of her classmates. Something about ashes, and lost shoes…

But Muggle fairytales were no more likely to come true than were the old tales of Beedle the Bard. This was real life, and in real life, the prince did not marry the scullery maid. Now granted, Astoria was no scullery maid—but Draco Malfoy was in all the ways that counted very nearly a prince.

And there was, logically, no reason whatsoever for him to be interested in poor, plain little Astoria Greengrass—not for any sort of long-term purposes, at least.

But as far as the short-term went…

Well, it was a terrible thing to accuse any gentleman of having rather less than honorable intentions…but there _was_ the Parkinson matter to consider…

And consider it Astoria did. From every conceivable angle. The problem was, she kept coming up with the same result:

Pansy.

Parkinson.

 * * *

Everyone, of course, knew about Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy. Theirs was a society heavily populated by gossips, and those gossips loved nothing more than being able to share stories about their most elite members—and there were few as elite as the Malfoys.

Pansy, of course, was a different matter.

Oh, she was a Pureblood, of course, from a long and documented lineage (Draco Malfoy would never have been seen with anyone less, no matter _how_ charming or pretty she might have been) and her family could easily call themselves wealthy although not nearly, of course, so wealthy as the Malfoys. There were few indeed who were.

But when it came to _class_ …well, there, Pansy as a person rather left something to be desired.

She was also lacking in discretion, and in this particular instance that was by far the more pressing issue. Because while there are certain things that might well happen behind closed doors, they are meant to _stay_ there, and certainly not meant to be discussed in public.

But Pansy liked to brag.

And, true or not, she had bragged about her conquest of Draco Malfoy and then, worst of all, had afterwards broken things off with him. Or perhaps it had been he who had done the breaking; reports on that subject differed, and Astoria had never before cared enough to attempt to ascertain their veracity. After all, what did it matter to her what the obnoxious older Slytherins got up to, whether it was tormenting Mudbloods or snogging one another senseless? She certainly didn’t want to know about it.

Except that now, she did.

Astoria had, of course, known Pansy Parkinson. There was no way to be in Slytherin and _not_ know the shrill, snobby girl. Besides, her sister had been one of Parkinson’s closest associates, and by extension, Astoria had thus been on more than one occasion a target of scorn from Pansy, Daphne, and their gang. As with Daphne, Astoria had done her best to ignore Pansy Parkinson entirely.

But no one in Slytherin could have missed Pansy’s bragging during her sixth year; Astoria’s fourth. Pansy had sauntered around their common room like a visiting dignitary deigning to slum with the rabble. She’d flaunted her scandalous behavior like some celebrity in the _Daily Prophet_ ’s more sensational sections, preening and gossiping and giggling over her own antics. Astoria had looked up long enough to wrinkle her nose in disgust, note idly that Malfoy seemed torn between mortification and annoyance at Pansy’s lascivious disclosure, debate whether or not Daphne was going to actually explode or just metaphorically, and then Astoria had buried her nose back in her textbook and done her best to continue her policy of determined ignorance of Pansy Parkinson and all her ilk.

But gossip was a pervasive thing, and listening to lurid whispers at least livened up boring parties, even when it was—as usual—gossip about things and people that Astoria really couldn’t have cared less about, and in the circles she was forced to move, there was no way not to hear about what went on between Parkinson and Malfoy.

Astoria knew that the gossip network had no doubt blown everything entirely out of proportion; knew that she couldn’t trust a single detail garnered from such sources; knew that she hadn’t paid enough attention when it was happening to reliably remember even the distorted version of events she’d heard at the time. She knew better than to rely on the gossip network. She certainly knew better than to let it upset her…

But she just couldn’t help it.


End file.
